Page 68 of Phoenix Academy: Mayhem

It isn't. David darts forward and shoots the Heretic, then darts back, his eyes never betraying the cause of his movements. With a roar of anger, the soulless man lunges for him—and freezes as his right foot is caught in one of my traps.

Head cocking eerily to the side, he studies the werewolf before him, his dark eyes narrowed. "Magic. Whose?"

I feel the thickness of fear coating my throat as I stand up and step out into the church aisle. "Mine, father."

His thick head swivels in my direction. I feel the piercing darkness of his gaze through my entire body, all the way to my very soul. My mind forces unwanted memories to the forefront of my consciousness: pain, blood, his hands holding me down, that careless expression on his face as he bled me dry.

He didn't know that I would arise from the ashes stronger than ever, and become capable of taking him down.

"So you did come back to life." His eyes narrow. "My blood in you is stronger than I thought. Tell me, are you here to kill me? Or will you finally kneel down and worship the God who made you?"

I can't tell if he thinks he's that god, or if he's speaking of another. During his moment of distraction, the guys hurriedly reload their crossbows and send their bolts flying.

This time, the Heretic's movements are too slow; three thick metal bolts bury their way into his skin as he roars in anger. The barbs on the bolts make them impossible to simply pull out, especially as the guys begin to pace around him, tightening the ropes in a concentric circle, until he can barely move his arms.

I watch this all with a cold pit of dread behind my ribs and sick nausea twisting in my stomach.

"Now, Ari!" Xavier shoots a worried expression my way as the Heretic struggles in the confines of his ropes. "Before he escapes."

The beast roars, "When I do, I will bleed you dry! I will make you pay! Your blood will spill into the ground and I will watch the life—"

Sharp anger makes me inhale. The warmth of power flares at my wrist. Instinct brings the blue flames to my fingertips. And muscle memory, more than anything, causes me to fling the flames outward and draw the rune I've been dreaming of for days.

Blue flames hit the Heretic's broad back and race across his skin to form the image I hold in the forefront of my mind. Swirling lines, a curving asymmetrical middle character for the anchor, and other smaller characters to hold it all together.

He bellows in rage, straining at the ropes until one of them loosens.

I finish the rune before he gets free, using the power of the seven immortals to push back my mental block and burn his flesh.

As its final swooping burst of flame burns his very soul into his skin, and his shirt falls away in ragged tatters, the Heretic stumbles. Turns to me. And something like confused horror crosses his soulless face.

Then I feel it in the air around me: soul magic. A spirit approaches at lightning speed. The very temperature in the church drops, and my breath forms a cloud in front of me, as a stray soul is pulled rapidly into its burnt, empty husk of a body.

I see the spirit in the air for only a moment before it slams inside the Husk I call the Heretic.

He topples over from the force of it, crying out, his foot slipping loose from the trap. I run towards him; David calls out, "Ari, stop! Be careful. Just in case it didn't work."

Slowing down, I stand a few steps away from the Heretic and peer at his face. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow, the smell of charred flesh in the air from my flames carving magic into his back.

Behind me, six bodies are piled high on an altar desecrated by soulless hate.

I wonder what kind of man would do that, even without a soul. It frightens me to think that I'm half him. I don't know what that makes me capable of, but I fear taking his life will only add to the red ledger of rot and ruin running through me.

Then his eyes open, and a moan of pain leaves his lips. Despite myself, knowing the danger, I throw caution to the wind and step to his side, then kneel by him to stare down into his face.

The eyes that meet mine are no longer dark and soulless.

Instead they're the familiar green-blue I see in the mirror.

"Daughter." A chill goes up my spine at his new voice, which is clear and pitched at a normal level, instead of the bestial roar I've grown used to fearing. "It's really you."

David steps up to the Heretic and aims his gun right at his forehead. "And if you even so much as make a move towards her, I'll put a bullet in your brain."

The strange man before me swivels his eyes up to David, then nods weakly. "Of course. Of course. I..." His eyes flutter closed briefly, then open again. "I remember what I've done. I imagine there's a reason why you're here, why you did this... putting my soul back in my body."

"It makes you mortal," I acknowledge. "Just like I was when you killed me. Like all those witches were. And Mom. Unlike me and Lizzy, they didn't come back."

"There were more," he acknowledges, pain flittering across his face. "So many more. I can't truly fathom the number I've killed, but I feel it like a stain across my soul."

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